


Que Sera, Sera

by wigglebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Covid-19 Related, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Pandemics, Sick Castiel (Supernatural), Sick Character, Sickfic, self-quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: A few months into his new human life, Cas comes down with a fever and cough. Usually, that wouldn't be a concern, but now there's a contagious, new illness spreading across the country, and the anxiety that comes along with it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 117
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Que Sera, Sera

**Author's Note:**

> "Que sera, sera  
> Whatever will be, will be  
> The future's not ours to see  
> Que sera, sera  
> What will be, will be"

There were wonderful upsides to being human. 

While Cas had technically existed longer than any human that currently walked the earth, it took him being grounded, among them and immersed in their senses and experiences to truly understand them a hundred percent. 

For the first few months, he was just fine. Everything was new through new eyes. With no overwhelming, cosmic shield overblowing yet undeserving him constantly, the touch of someone or the smell of dinner or even just the sound of a bird was clearer and more pleasant.

Being human was a lot more wonderful than Cas anticipated. 

Until he got sick for the first time.

There was talk for a couple weeks about a bad batch of something being spread throughout the population, mostly in the bigger cities. Highly contagious, most people are fine, but since it was so contagious and the cases rose too fast, the healthcare system was overworked.

Sam, Eileen, Dean, and Cas didn’t have any concerns. Jack would be fine, they would be fine--they lived in a town of two-thousand and rarely frequented the movie theater or the only shopping mall near them in Kearney, Nebraska. It was annoying they had to seemingly stock up on normal necessities like toilet paper, but all in all, they’d be fine. 

They had faced worse. 

Though, Eileen and Cas did have to block the news websites from Dean and Sam’s laptops. Sam came first, but Dean tried to hide his constant checking of websites and local news. The deepening frown on his face gave him away in the end, and Cas hid the laptop until all of it was done. 

It was the second week into the “outbreak” (or “crisis” as the news websites said) when Cas felt cold. It wasn’t a normal cold, like a draft or that the heat was broken, but a type of deep, internal cold. 

It was off. He felt off. It was all off. 

He and Dean had fallen asleep in front of the television watching Outlander, closer together thanks to the absence of the bunker crowd that night. The blanket covered both of them on the new couch and blocked the usual chill that ran through the place. Cas had drifted off before the first episode even finished thanks to the body heat pressed against him, trapped by the blanket. 

What felt like two minutes of sleep was actually three hours when Cas was gently shaken awake by Dean. 

Not shaken awake by Dean--but shaking against him. He was shaking all on his own.

Eyes still closed, the blue of the TV still trying to penetrate his eyelids, Cas scrunched his face as he felt chill after chill run up his spine. It wasn’t that good kind of chill that raced over his skin whenever he’d walk into a room and Dean looked at him a certain way, or the chill when he’d wake up in the morning with Dean’s cold feet pressed against him.

It was a very unsettling chill. 

And that’s when Cas realized his teeth were chattering. 

“Hey,” Dean’s low, sleepy voice came to Cas over the sound of his shivering. His breath was hot against the back of Cas’s neck. He soon felt a cool hand press against his skin there.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked as the hand from the back of his neck then pressed up against Cas’s cheek, “You’re shaking and really hot--like you’re always really hot but--”

“I’m hot? I feel cold.”

There’s a pause. 

“Are you--”

“Yeah, I can’t get them to stop,” Cas said, realizing suddenly that Dean was going to get up, and he didn’t want that warmth to go away. He tightened his grip on the blanket. Dean stayed silent. 

“Was it something I ate?” Cas asked, the chill running through him again. He hated that feeling already. 

“Does your stomach hurt?” 

Cas paused and placed a hand on his midsection. Now he could feel the heat of his skin through the cotton t-shirt he wore. 

No. He didn’t feel any pain. 

“It’s fine--I just feel cold.”

“Shit,” Dean whispered as he started to shift. The movement made Cas’s head ache and he squeezed his eyes shut more even though it did nothing to help. 

The warmth and support behind Cas were gone and he wanted to roll over completely onto his back but found his muscles didn’t want to cooperate. Staying still sounded better. Less movement, less pain. 

He lost the whereabouts of Dean as he kept his eyes closed and jumped when he felt the cold hand against his forehead. It went from shocking to comforting instantly, but also sent another spike through the front of Cas’s head, straight through his brain. 

“I think you have a fever,” Dean’s voice was close indicating he was kneeling right next to Cas. 

“And that’s bad, right?” Cas asked, realizing he shouldn’t talk either. Everything was hurting his head. 

He heard Dean sigh and shift, “I mean--fever means you’re fighting something off. We just have to see how high it is.”

Cas wanted to sigh, wanted to say something in response but he just didn’t care to. He didn’t want to move, or speak, or do anything but maybe try and go back to sleep. 

He somehow got back to their bedroom, somehow got a thermometer in his mouth, somehow was pushed under the covers so his head rested properly on his pillow. 

The bed dipped by his hip where Dean sat, waiting as the thermometer beeped at them. 

The lamp next to the bed was on, but the low light didn’t hurt Cas’s head, and when Dean had come back with the thermometer, he also had a glass of water and two little pills. They helped to take down the chills a little in Cas, he found, but the headache still throbbed dully.

He felt horrible. A human level of horrible.

One of Dean’s hands rested on Cas’s leg above the covers, providing a comforting weight. It was the only thing Cas had the energy to concentrate on. The short journey from the den to the room seemingly sapped all his energy away, and not in a way he’s experienced before. It felt like all his limbs were weighed down on the mattress by anchors, and even the thought of walking across the room made the exhaustion worse. 

The thermometer beeped on, and Cas closed his eyes again. 

“You doing okay?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low. Cas took a moment to assess the situation. He certainly didn’t feel okay. He didn’t feel at all okay. It was a weird sensation all over, feeling both hot and cold with a chill that still felt like his skin was over-sensitive. His head felt heavy and continued to ache, and his throat was feeling dry. Maybe it was okay for humans who were used to things like this, but it felt miserable for Cas. 

Cas nodded slightly, and he heard Dean sigh again. 

The thermometer beeped rapidly several moments later, and Cas felt it taken from his mouth. 

“A hundred ‘n one. You definitely have something,” Dean said, serious. Too serious. It was a tone Cas didn’t hear often anymore.

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“What does that mean I have something?” Cas asked with some difficulty. Talking was also exhausting. 

The hand left Cas’s leg and he frowned, opening his eyes while Dean lifted himself off the bed.

“You’re sick,” Dean explained, setting the thermometer on the bedside table, “You have a cold or something.” 

“Is that bad?” Cas asked, his voice unable to go much above a whisper. The thing sounded familiar, but the headache formed a haze around his thoughts, making some things foggy and muddled. He knew humans got sick and knew that he wouldn’t avoid illness altogether once he stayed on earth and made himself open for it--

But still. 

“No, colds aren’t bad,” Dean shook his head, “You’re just gonna feel like shit for a couple days.”

Cas mustered the strength to sigh, and out came a hitch in his chest and a cough. The corners of Dean’s mouth turned upward slightly.

“I’ll make Sam get NyQuil tomorrow morning,” he said, turning. As Cas felt his eyelids wanting to fall again, he watched as Dean pull his own t-shirt off, laying it on the back of the desk chair. 

“Are you staying here tonight?”

Dean glanced over to him, frowning, “It’s my bed too.”

Another cough escaped from Cas and his head protested the violent movement. 

“You’ll get sick too,” Cas said, reaching over for the water. His arm moved in slow motion like something was trying to pull him back down. Being sick was awful, Cas confirmed to himself, and it had only been an hour. A pang of annoyance rippled through him as he remembered Dean saying it would be a couple of days until he felt normal again.

Dean shook his head, leaving his sweatpants behind as well while heading over to the bed. 

“I don’t get sick.”

“Dean--”

Pulling back the comforter and sheets, Dean slid into bed, rocking Cas slightly with the effort. He flashed a small smile before reaching over Cas to shut the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.

“Dean,” Cas tries again, not much effort going into it, “Everyone gets sick.”

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Cas felt lips glide over his shoulder. The heat his skin had been taking for the better part of an hour had put his nerves on an ultra-high setting, and the small gesture by Dean gave another set of chills to run along parallel with the existing ones. 

“I don’t get sick,” Dean murmured, already halfway back to the same sleepy state he was on the couch, “I had a sore throat once when I was ten but it was cold and we were in the mountains.” 

“Dean--” Cas attempted one more time but knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere. Even if he had the strength to push Dean back out, he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to. The weight and warmth felt good, like it did laying on the couch. It gave his mind something else to focus on, and while he may technically be feverish, he didn’t feel it. Having another person nearby was more comforting than not. 

“Go to sleep,” Dean answered, resting an arm over Cas’s chest, providing a comforting weight. 

Cas yawned, then coughed again, before allowing his eyes to close fully. The gentle rhythm of both of their breathing lulled him into a deep sleep. 

Some time later, Cas wasn’t sure how long it was, he woke up. 

The room remained dark around him, he was still laying down, and he still felt cold with chills. Blinking, groggy, Cas inhaled a deeper breath, triggering a few more coughs. He winced with them, a small pain in his chest flaring up. 

Laying there for a moment, he stared at the dark ceiling, wondering what woke him up. He didn’t think he had to use the bathroom, but his body still felt odd and he couldn’t tell if he had to--

The ceiling wasn’t completely dark, Cas realized. There was a soft, barely-there blue glow. 

Frowning, Cas turned his head to his right. Dean was no longer tucked against him. He had turned onto his other side at some point in the night. His back was curved, and his head ducked on his pillow so Cas only saw some of the back of Dean’s head. The blue glow’s origin was somewhere over there, and it made everything look as cold as Cas felt. 

Confused, shifting, Cas placed a hand on Dean’s back and jumped when Dean jumped as well. 

“What’s wrong,” Cas whispered, his throat feeling like gravel. Dean was tense and unyielding under Cas’s palm. Worry nestled itself inside the back of Cas’s mind as Dean inhaled deep, breath hitching on the way in and sounding shaky. 

“Nothing,” Dean answered, voice low and thick.

They both knew that answer never worked anymore, but the habit of saying it still hasn’t left. 

The blue glow suddenly vanished, and Cas felt Dean move to shove his phone under his pillow. 

All the warmth from earlier was gone. Cas kept his hand where it was, feeling the tightness under his palm. Dean wasn’t moving, and the silence between them spoke the truth: Something was wrong. 

He didn’t want to move. He still felt weighed down and pressed against the mattress, his chest hurt, his throat hurt--but Cas pushed himself up anyway. Despite the illness, his speed still wasn’t too affected, or Dean didn’t anticipate Cas to be able to move much at all. Either way, Cas moved onto his side, pressing up against the back of Dean. He reached over in a flash, shoved his hand under Dean’s pillow, and felt his hands close over the phone. 

“Hey hey hey _hey,_ ” Dean protested as Cas flopped over onto his back, the phone in his hand. The efforted movement caused him to cough a few more times, drawing up a small groan in discomfort. 

The room filled with a soft, golden light as Dean turned his bedside lamp on, sitting fully up. 

As Cas unlocked the phone, he looked back over to Dean. The sight caused him to pause completely, that worrying feeling shooting straight up into his throat. 

Dean’s eyes weren’t as bright as they were earlier, and even in the warm, soft light, his face looked gray and pale. The calm, collective nature from earlier completely vanished and Dean looked downright terrified. 

Cas’s fingers worked automatically to unlock the phone without looking at it while Dean pointedly avoided looking at him. There was no fight for the phone. Dean didn’t bother. 

“What happened?” Cas asked as the phone lit up. He brought his attention back to it squinting at the bright screen light before it adjusted itself. 

On the screen were paragraphs of text talking about pre-existing conditions, immune systems, and symptoms for that illness that had been going around. 

Frowning, Cas continued to scroll, reading the text, trying to find something that would have caused Dean’s reaction. 

“You don’t have an immune system,” Dean’s voice cut through the silence, heavy and toneless.

It took only half a second for Cas’s sleep muddled brain to put two and two together with the text on the screen and how he felt.

Sighing (followed by another cough), Cas locked the phone and placed it on his bedside table. He slid back down into the covers and turned onto his side, noting how much better it felt to lay like that, and for the first time since waking up, didn’t feel like coughing. But now, he wasn’t concerned about himself. 

Dean paused before following suit. He left his lamp on as he also sank beneath the covers, laying on his side to face Cas. The scared look remained on his face, and Cas just wanted to press himself against Dean and draw that fear out of him. 

In the months after things settled in their life, Dean would still sometimes have a bad dream, or just have a bad day, that he felt like he had to hide. Cas, already knowing Dean’s ticks and behavior, learned to spot those days and moments and the times that Dean wanted to hide from everyone else in the bunker. It was harder to hide it now that things have settled, their lives weren’t as busy. There weren't as many distractions for Dean anymore.

It always seemed to hit him worse at night. 

Cas kept his distance in the bed, despite the need inside to go for the usual means of comfort. Dean said he doesn’t get sick, but Cas didn’t know how true that statement was. 

“You’re not getting that back tonight,” Cas said, or tried to say. His voice was already starting to go and the less air he put behind it, the more hoarse he sounded. 

In their stillness, Cas could still hear the short, stuttering inhales Dean tried. 

“I was half asleep and it hit me,” Dean whispered, sounding dull and defeated. An appearance and tone reserved for the more private moments where other people weren’t watching.

Dean had paused to see if Cas would prompt him. Cas decided not to say anything. 

“It spun around,” Dean started with a small sigh, “I don’t know what made me think about it--maybe my thing about not getting sick--I don’t know. But it just hit me, like it literally felt like a punch, that there’s no guarantee you have an immune system. Like--you’re here, you’re human, you’re...everything but we don’t know what’s what. It took you two months to even learn how to sleep properly. A month to actually be able to keep three meals down.”

“So you thought going online and searching colds and--”

“Yeah. And then I got to some stuff on that thing that’s going around--that virus. And then it started to say how even healthy people can get sick. One of the articles had a picture of a hospital in New York that looked in rough shape and that this is hitting so many people and how they’re overwhelmed and--”

“That’s not what got you like this,” Cas interrupted, cutting short Dean’s nervous verbal spiral, knowing better. “A picture of a hospital that’s how many thousand miles away isn’t what freaked you out.” 

They had seen worse, so much worse, in a short amount of time--a picture of a hospital wasn’t what--

“They were saying how people with compromised immune systems or whatever had a higher risk of getting seriously sick,” Dean explained, taking his eyes off Cas and picking at a pilled spot on the sheets in front of them. 

NEWAR paused. 

“You mean dying,” he said, watching Dean’s reaction, “Those with compromised immune systems have a higher risk of dying.”

Dean nodded, looking small, pale, and scared again. It was troubling to keep looking at. 

At first, Cas in his half-awake mind wondered why that was such a big deal. They’ve all been to multiple planes of existence multiple times and it wasn’t like death was anything new to them. 

But a moment later, the realization came to him that this time was, in fact, different. He was thinking of an old habit, but now there wasn’t anyone to throw them back down to Earth shiny and new. There wasn’t a deal to be made to save a life. There wasn’t a spell, or trick, or whatever else they had up their sleeves to make sure they stayed alive and well. They still had a few allies, but no one who would start breaking rules again. 

The message was clear once everything was sealed up months ago: No more special treatment, you’re on your own.

Cas let that thought spin around his head a few times while continuing to watch Dean pick at the threads. Every time it went around, Cas lost what it was he was trying to think of and lost the emotion that he was looking for. Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was just the exhaustion settling deep into him, but Cas found that after a moment or two of reflection, Dean’s subject of worry didn’t worry him.

Cas didn’t feel like he was in danger. Not the same level of danger like in the past when his existence was actually in danger. 

He just felt tired. 

“I’m not dead right now am I?” Cas asked, watching Dean’s fingers stop. He looked back up and saw Dean also brought his gaze forward again, frowning. 

“What--”

“I’m not dead right now am I?” Cas repeated, turning to let a cough out into his elbow before returning back to Dean’s worried face, “You don’t have any knowledge as to when I’m supposed to die, correct? If you do, let me know. I can brace myself.”

“Cas come on I--”

“Don’t go off into the future when you can’t tell me for sure what’s going to happen,” Cas cut Dean off. Talking was sapping his energy faster than he thought it would, but he needed that worry and fear off of Dean’s face and out of his body.

Dean pursed his lips and went back to picking at the sheet. He paused, then took a deep breath.

“But what if--”

“No,” Cas cut him off, this time reaching out and stopping Dean’s hand before he ripped a small hole in the fabric, “No ‘what if’. We don’t have to do that anymore.”

They were done with those. They didn’t have to “what if” every scenario before taking action anymore. They didn’t have to weigh every potential outcome and see which one would be the worst. They didn’t have to strategize around ‘what if’s or “should we” anymore. Up until right then in their bedroom, it was more or less smooth sailing on a day to day.

Dean, months later, still struggled to remember that. 

“We don’t walk out of here every day thinking we’re going to get sick, right?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. “Right now, all we know is that I am sick, I have a cough, a fever, and I’m very tired. And we can take it day by day after that,” Cas said, shifting closer, “I’m also cold and you’re too far away.”

Dean stayed silent for a moment, and Cas could still sense the tension and the lingering fear. 

They’d deal with it tomorrow. 

Currently, Cas’s only goal was to get them both back to sleep. He knew that the fight to get Dean out of whatever storm he was in would take a few days, and he didn’t have the energy to do it right then.

Cas knew that Dean would lock it down outside the bedroom so Sam and Jack and Eileen didn’t sense any of the current stress or fear running through him. Maybe that was for the better, maybe it’d make things worse. For sure if Cas needed help he’d spill the beans, even if it meant Dean would have to deal with one of Sam’s “talks”. 

_You’re sinking in the future too,_ Cas gently reprimanded himself as Dean shifted into a more comfortable position against the pillow. 

“I thought you didn’t want to get me sick,” Dean murmured, Cas pleased to hear the soft, sleepiness returning. 

“I thought you said you don’t get sick,” Cas countered, eyes already closing, unable to stay open anymore. Exhaustion was really taking over now. 

Dean hummed in acknowledgment as Cas felt the pull back down into deep sleep. The light stayed on, keeping the dark out of the room and bathing them both in a golden, warm light. 

They took it day by day. 

Only Dean was allowed near Cas, and they basically self-quarantined together on Sam’s instructions. But it was okay. They were stuck in the room other than the bathroom, but it was okay. Dean never did get sick, and Cas only got slightly worse, but it was okay. 

It was all okay. 

Around ten days after the initial fever, a sore throat, and a lot of coughing later, Cas began to turn the tide. 

He didn’t remember much other than Dean forcing him to drink water and juice, the shaking of the bed as Dean sat on it with a leg bouncing from his nerves, and a lot of sleeping. 

The exhaustion was almost the worst thing of all. Cas had felt his energy levels vanish before, but it felt worse than that now. Every time he opened his eyes it felt like he had slept for a week, only to have Dean tell him that he only slept for a couple hours. 

But, regardless of hardly staying conscious long enough to get through one episode of whatever show Dean decided to watch that day, Cas was exceedingly grateful for the company. 

Even Dean, after day five, had started to calm down. Every time Cas woke, Dean would ask if he was having any difficulty breathing. Cas would respond with a small cough and shake his head. But, on day four, he did feel like someone set a small weight on his chest and that he wasn’t getting in enough air. It didn’t panic Cas, he still felt alright, and he told Dean that. 

But Dean instantly left the room, that stressed and fearful expression rising once more. Cas thought he was going to get Sam and they were going to force him to go to the hospital, but instead, Dean came back with a small, old, oximeter from the medical room. 

It did the job. Despite Cas having the pressure, he was getting enough oxygen according to the small digits that bounced between 97 and 98. He could physically feel the nerves release from Dean as he sighed deeply, went back out of the room to wash his hands, and return. As he shut the door, Cas felt himself slip back into a dreamless sleep. 

On day seven, his fever broke. It never got above 102, and Dean was sure to check every time Cas woke. The agreement was that if it got any higher, Cas would be taken to the hospital. 

Cas didn’t know if it was a concentrated power of will, maybe he did have an immune system after all, or maybe this wasn’t as bad as Dean thought it would be--but his fever never rose, his breathing was fine, and other than feeling horrible for a week, Cas knew that there would be the other side of this thing. He kept reminding Dean that. Dean eventually believed him. 

By day ten, Cas could get out of the bed, into the bathroom, and properly bathe (though he was still too tired for a shower). Dean himself was feeling better enough to make a lewd joke about sponge baths and nurses. 

By day fourteen, they were back on the couch in the den, catching up on the show they left off on. 

Everything went back to normal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you're all doing very well.  
> It's been a while since I posted something. Between writing my pinefest, some codas, taking a break, and then this pandemic thing starting, my creative muse wanted to take a nap.  
> I don't think it's a shock to say my anxiety really spiked severely at the beginning of March due to all of this. I think a lot of us were in that situation. I was having a hard time, and I won't go into specifics, but it took about two weeks for me to feel like I could write again.  
> I decided that I won't let this thing freak me out, and instead use the writing to help me, and maybe you, to get through all this. I gave poor Dean a little of my own anxiety, poor guy.
> 
> I titled this fic 'Que Sera Sera' after my mom sang that little melody the other day and I listened to this song for the first time. It's just a little thing that's made me feel better. 
> 
> I hope this read alright, I feel like I'm dusting off the cobwebs a bit. This is unbeta'd since my usual beta is hard at work right now and I didn't want to bother them. If there's an error anywhere, please kindly let me know! 
> 
> Onto the next fic! Hopefully, we can start getting sexy again! lol.
> 
> I hope you're all safe and healthy, and if you got sick that you're well on your way to recovery, and if you know someone who is sick that they are recovering safely as well. 
> 
> <3 Jen / wigglebox


End file.
